


girls like girls, or an ode to myself

by blvesey



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, Lesbians, Poetry, i have never posted original work on here before, prose, yes the girl is Me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 06:44:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8963782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blvesey/pseuds/blvesey
Summary: warning- NOT FANFICTION. just cute gay girls bonding over music and falling in love over the span of a paragraph.





	

**Author's Note:**

> im sorry this isn't a fanfic but it's cute so

  You've seen a lot of pretty girls. Your eyes are always drawn to them, the way they walk and talk and the way they feel. After a while you stop being surprised, stop pushing down the anxious beat in your chest when they smile at you. After a while you get used to them.

   This one is different. You're not prepared for her.

   You came to Target to get toilet paper, which is not remotely romantic. But being easily distracted as you are, you find yourself near the CDs, and there's only one copy of Citrine left, and it's on sale, and you're reaching for it but so is someone else, and your hands are touching, and shit.

   Her hands are small, but warm and rough, and she doesn't pull away. You meet her eyes, and it's a mistake, because now you don't think you can look anywhere else. Her eyes are wide, and one has a little more green than the other, and you tell yourself that you don't know why you noticed that.

   You really want that CD. But then her coral pink lips turn up into a smile, and her lashes brush her cheeks, and you decide you want her far more.

   "I'm sorry," you stutter out, jerking your hand away and immediately missing the contact. "You can have it, I-I can just find it somewhere else."

   She looks like she's really considering it, and her smile gets even wider. But then it turns into something else, something almost mischievous. "Well, I wouldn't want to deprive you of  Hayley Kiyoko," she laughs, low and light, as if it's a secret. "How about we listen to it together some time?"  
   Maybe you're imagining how her voice catches in her throat, because anyone brave enough to use that ridiculous line shouldn't have trouble saying it. But cliche and awkward as it is, it leaves you speechless. 

  She's looking at you expectantly, you realize, and everything in you says no. She's so out of your league. She's the type of girl who visits cemeteries and gives wild flowers to everyone who died before they could really live, probably dandelions and cornflowers because she's the type of girl who finds beauty on the side of the road. She's the type of girl who drinks raspberry seltzer on the roof on July nights, listening to the hiss of bubbles in her ears, hair curling in the heat. She's the type of girl who smells like grapefruit and tastes like saltwater, a wild, lonely flavor that makes your head spin and your cheeks flush.

   She's the type of girl who sings into your mouth when she kisses you, you find out three months later, because of course you said yes. You said yes to the type of girl who moves along your body to the beat of walking on a cliff's edge, who tells you that she loves you like her bare fingers love the cold air that sneaks under your blankets at night, like her lips love to trace the black ferns sprouting from your hipbones.  
   She tells you that the first time she saw you, she fell in love. She calls your beauty intimidating, stunning, inspiring. She plays that CD until it's scratched and dull, saying that it was a gift from the sapphic goddesses. You just shake your head, because she's the type of girl to believe in sapphic goddesses.  
   You've seen a lot of pretty girls. This is the first time a pretty girl has seen you.


End file.
